Exonerate My Soul, Exonerate Us All
by aidanadia
Summary: Edward suffers from delusions of grandeur - but he has to realise he may not always be the saviour. Written during the period where he is separated from Carlisle and Esme.


**Exonerate My Soul, Exonerate Us All**

**nadia the demented one**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

The low guttural moans and the sound of supple flesh tearing underneath my unforgiving teeth is the equivalent of the classical deities dining on their ambrosia. Both are delightful to every sense that can experience it.

Occasionally, I lament over the human life which I was denied, which was stolen from me. I hold no animosity towards Carlisle, for me re-created me – it was because of him I was able to get a second chance. However, I will never stop grieving over my lost soul and the destined path leading to Hell's inevitable fires.

Nevertheless, I experience an overwhelming nausea towards human life, especially at dark when everything is hidden in the blanket of the shadows, even me. The innocents see everything in the angelic glow of life. It only takes one to shatter this false perception. The vile, lower class beings do not hesitate to disrupt a possible utopia through their repulsive actions.

I used to watch them, like a silent film in front of me, the voices only in my head, in my imagination. I watched like a voyeur from afar, but not like a voyeur. I derived no pleasure from the carnage and emotional debris left in the wake of the vile ones. The cunning humans travelled alone, without simpletons causing blunders in their plans. They hunted the innocuous beings – females mainly, in their pretty dresses with their shiny hair. They would be hurrying home, darting glances towards what they could not see, only feel by instinct. Their heart rates would skyrocket as they were aware of their pursuer. With a knife pressed to their bosoms, I watched as these men played out their grotesque fantasies. Corsets were ripped and discarded from the bodies and lone screams emitted to terrorize the silence. I would fight the urge to intervene and save these fallen angels as they would be shamelessly raped, beaten and killed.

Killed, with no mercy!

Would I have been like that if Carlisle had denied me this life? Would I, too, have ruthlessly slaughtered the harmless and waited for daylight to arrive, so I could hear the latest assault? Would I have laughed at my horrific kill by myself?

No.

I could not, I would not.

Now I have become the silent avenger, the well intentioned stalker. I am the one that hunts the hunters. Their thoughts are like a beckoning siren's calls, luring me to the trap. But it is I, the valiant creature of the night who triumphs over evil. It is I, who saves the women from a terrible death and leaves the murderer to die by his own shallow pool of blood. I am satisfied with the victory and the full stomach I leave with. No one even knows.

Carlisle and Esme need not worry. I fare fine on my own. This is my chance to redeem my soul, to work my way up to goodness.

In my smugness, I had not realised I would soon slip and fall off the ladder.

This time, the hunted was a fair maiden of pale skin and dark hair. She did not even attempt to scream when the grubby hand restricted her windpipe. My motions were fluid. I dragged a fingernail over the grubby flesh, slicing the vital veins. I licked off the blood and let the venom hiss on the wounds; much better than salt. I discarded of the poisonous man immediately, only measuring his surprise by the infinitesimal widening of his eyes. Soon, the only thing that was left was a carcass and a surprised woman.

"You're safe now."

Slowly, but surely, she shook her head. "No. You're just as bad as the rest of them."

I could not understand. I was doing the right thing! I took life away from those that least deserved it! Then comprehension dawned on me.

It was not my place to take anyone's life. It would be the never ending cycle I had no control over, because someone somewhere would disrupt perfection. I could not save them all. I could not preserve utopia.

I dipped my finger in the blood that pooled near my feet and began to write on the walls of the alley, staining them forever.

Exoneration is forbidden to the likes of us.

Three days later, I returned to my parents, and they welcomed me back like the prodigy.

Perhaps exoneration wasn't so impossible after all.

--

**A/N: Finally, a part of my muse has returned. This was originally supposed to be a fluff piece, but I think I missed the point of that somewhere. **

**nadia the demented one **


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